I don’t get to breathe before I feel it completely, Maverick behind me, invading the space I’ve protected for years.
I pretend not to care.
Candle wax has dripped down my bookshelf. My sketchbooks still lay spread out across my clear, acrylic desk. Dried ink caps are strewn on the tray by my velvet couch, next to the lopsided succulent pot from Mia.
Organized chaos. My chaos.
I head to the kitchen, grab Rex’s bowls from the cupboard, and fill them out of habit. He scuttles in, chirps once, and starts eating.
I feel Maverick move again.
A shuffle. A clink.
I glance over my shoulder and—Oh my God.
Maverick’s cleaning my apartment.
He’s completely rearranging my incense drawer, fluffing pillows, organizing my crystals, and straightening the crooked art print above the couch.
I blink. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Organizing.”
I stare at him, with no response, because what?
He crouches by my bookshelf, his head tilted as his hand reaches for the tray of crystals.
“Uh, dollface?” His voice was laced with laughter. “Why do you have so many rocks?”
I nearly choked on my saliva. “They’re not rocks,” I say, walking over before he could drop one. “They’re crystals.”
He picks up a chunk of amethyst, squinting at it. “Crystals,” he repeats slowly. “Looks like a driveway stone someone put in the wash.”
God, he’s insufferable. “That’s amethyst. It’s for calming and protection.”
His grin widens as his eyes flicker up to me. “Protection, huh? You keepin’ that one close in case I get outta hand?”
I fight the twitch of my mouth and snatch the amethyst away, replacing it with rose quartz. “This is rose quartz. It promotes love, self-love, compassion, and emotional healing.”
He rolls it in his palm, then tilts his head. “So you keepin’ this one around for me, fake wife?”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck as I force my expression flat. “Don’t flatter yourself, quarterback. That one’s for me.”
His laugh booms through my tiny apartment, echoing off the walls, making the place feel brighter and messier all at once. He set the stone down gently and shot me a smile that was entirely too pleased with himself.
“Yeah, well,” he says, standing to his full, impossible height. “You got a crystal for patience? Pretty sure you’re gonna need it with me.”
I roll my eyes.
Maverick moves over and hovers in front of another shelf with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His head tilts to the side, studying the group. “You got a thing for whale sharks?”
“They’re my favorite.” My voice is clipped, defensive.
His mouth quirks. “They’re not exactly cuddly.”
“Sharks in general are gentle, quiet, and misunderstood.”
His gaze flicks back to me, sharper than usual. “Sounds familiar.”
